


I Believe These Are Yours

by celtic7irish



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, five and one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: The first gift arrived at breakfast.  Four from Bruce's past.  One for his present.  And the last gift will be for his future.





	I Believe These Are Yours

**Author's Note:**

> For the Science Bros Week 2017 Prompt: Yours

_Gift One_

 

“Hey, Bruce!” Clint called, wandering into the kitchen where two thirds of the Avengers were eating breakfast. “Did you order something?” He was holding a small rectangle box in his hands.

 

Bruce looked up. Blinked.  “Ah, not that I’m aware of,” he replied carefully, eyeing the package Clint was holding.  The archer froze, then very carefully set the box on the kitchen floor and slowly stepped away.

 

Natasha, who was scraping the last bit of yogurt out of a cup, just asked, “JARVIS, you checked the package?”

 

 _“Of course, Agent Romanov,”_ the AI answered, sounding vaguely insulted. _“There is nothing in there intended to harm Doctor Banner.”_ Natasha didn’t roll her eyes, but she did give Clint a pointed look.  The archer stuck his tongue out, but scooped the package back up and set it in front of Bruce.

 

Carefully, Bruce reached out and pulled the tape away before lifting the lid off the box. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing.  “Oh,” he murmured, reaching in and scooping up the top object.  Clint looked at the notebook curiously.

 

“What’s that?” he asked curiously. Natasha swatted the back of his head, but he ignored her.

 

Bruce held the journal in his hand carefully, like it was a precious treasure. And, in its own way, it was.  “My research,” he managed hoarsely, flipping the pages and devouring the information that was there.  He had thought it was all lost, beyond what little Betty had been able to recover before it was wiped.  “All of it.” He swallowed heavily, reaching for the box.  He looked for a return address, but wasn’t surprised to see that there was none.  “JARVIS, do you know who sent this?” he asked.

 

 _“I couldn’t say, Doctor Banner,”_ JARVIS replied vaguely.  Bruce nodded; he had expected as much.

 

“Thank you.” He rose from the table, gathering the box to his chest and leaving the room, heading for his lab.  He had work to do.

 

_Gift Two_

When the second package arrived, the Avengers had just returned from a battle against the Abomination. Bruce was exhausted and hurting; the Hulk had beaten the other monster back, but Blonsky had gotten in a few good licks of his own.  Days like this, Bruce was grateful to have a team, if only because it kept damage and casualties to a minimum.

 

He almost tripped over the small padded envelope sitting in front of the door to his bedroom. He stared down at it for a moment, then looked around, as if whoever had delivered it would be hiding in a corner or something.  “JARVIS?” he asked.

 

 _“It arrived three hours and fourteen minutes ago,”_ the AI informed him. _“I scanned the contents, and can assure you that it is safe to open, Doctor Banner.”_

 

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Bruce told him gratefully, picking up the package and opening the door to his room. He wanted a shower, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.  Instead, he settled on the bed and turned the envelope over in his hands.  There was no return address, but he had expected as much. 

 

Sliding his finger under the flap, he tore off the top of the envelope and peered inside. With a shaking hand, he tipped the contents out onto the bed.  A framed picture fell out.  One of him and Betty, taken during their time at Culver University.  They were outside, sitting under an old oak tree on campus, Betty sitting between his legs and leaning back, her head tipped onto his shoulder.  She was laughing, Bruce’s lips curved in a smile where he was murmuring into her ear.  Bruce couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been saying to her, but he remembered the sound of her laugh, bright and loud.  He didn’t remember who had taken the photo, only that a copy had been given to each of them a few days later.  Bruce’s had been on his desk at Culver, and then in his lab at the secret military base where he’d worked under General Thaddeus Ross.  He’d thought it lost forever after the destruction of the base following the emergence of the Hulk.

 

He realized that his fingers were clenching dangerously around the framed picture, and he very carefully set it on the table next to his bed, tears prickling hot at the back of his eyes and throat. “JARVIS?” he managed after a moment.

 

 _“Yes, Doctor Banner?”_ the AI asked softly.

 

“Tell him thanks, would you?” Bruce asked.

 

“Of course,” JARVIS agreed. Bruce gave a shaky smile, then got up to go take a shower, his mind still on the picture that represented a piece of his heart.

 

_Gift Three_

The third gift nearly went unnoticed. In fact, Bruce wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it hadn’t been for Steve Rogers.  “I didn’t know you knew how to shoot,” he said, looking up with a smile as Bruce walked into the range.  He’d been notified by JARVIS that his presence was requested at the archery range, which was odd enough that he’d had to actually ask JARVIS to repeat himself.

 

He looked over at Steve curiously, then froze when he saw what the other man was holding. The gun shone cold and impersonal in Steve’s hands, looking so much larger than he remembered it being.  Backing away, Bruce found himself pressed against the wall, trying – and failing – to control his breathing as visions of despair and cold and so much rage flashed through his mind.  He’d thought he was over that, that it didn’t matter anymore, what he’d tried to do.  What he’d failed to do.  He was wrong.

 

He realized that Steve was talking to him, looking worried, but he couldn’t hear him. It was as if the other man was under water.  Or ice.  He huffed a semi-hysterical laugh, remembering the snow all around him.  There hadn’t even been blood when he’d swallowed that bullet – the Other Guy hadn’t allowed it.

 

Steve had set the gun…somewhere, and Bruce couldn’t see it anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t _see_ it.  “Fuck,” he hissed out, his fingers tangling in his hair and gripping tightly, his head bowed down over upraised knees as he sank to the floor, gasping and choking.  The Hulk rumbled threateningly – he didn’t like guns, either – and Bruce made a low noise, begging him not to come out.  It was fine, he was safe, Captain America wasn’t going to shoot him for being a monster.

 

It took a moment before he registered the coolness pressed against his left hand where it was still fisted in his hair. It was such a contrast to his body, which was decidedly overheating, that it registered in his mind as an anomaly.  Glancing up, he saw Steve crouched next to him, close enough to touch, but not…not crowding him.  And that, more than anything – having a worried Steve Rogers sitting next to him, looking guilty and pathetic – helped snap him out of it.  He gulped in air, but this time, it worked, and he was able to regulate his breathing.

 

He flushed crimson. “I’m…sorry,” he managed at last.

 

Steve shook his head. “No need to apologize, Bruce.  In fact, I’m the one that should be apologizing.  God, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t realize what that was.”  His brow furrowed.  “Who would go through the trouble of finding that and sending it to you?  It doesn’t seem like something Ross would do.”  His distaste for the army general was clear in his tone, and Bruce huffed a strangled laugh.

 

“No, he wouldn’t,” he agreed. “Pretty sure he didn’t know about that.  In fact, the only people who know about that are you guys.  And Nick Fury.  Pretty sure I know who it was, though,” he sighed, standing.  Now that he was thinking rationally again, he was actually absolutely sure he knew who was behind that.  “Was there a note with it or something?” he asked.

 

Steve cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he thought. “I think so, actually,” he admitted.  “Hang on a moment.”  He pressed the water bottle into Bruce’s hands.  “You okay?”

 

Bruce nodded, twisting off the lid and taking a few sips of the water, grateful for the cool liquid. “Yeah, I’m good.  I was just…caught off guard,” he admitted, taking another deep breath.  Steve hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something, but then just shook his head and padded across the range, heading for the row of lockers at the far end.  Bruce hadn’t even known he had a locker – it wasn’t like the Hulk had any interest in long-distance weapons, preferring to be up close and personal while smashing.

 

Steve opened one of the lockers and twisted, peering into the slotted front. “I had never seen you use one, so I was a bit confused,” he admitted.  “Clint was looking for one of the new arrows Tony made, and he tends to leave them in whatever locker happens to be in front of him.”  A moment later, he was pulling out a slender envelope that had apparently gotten stuck in the slots at the top of the locker.  Bruce’s lips twitched; the gifter had opened the locker to put the gun inside, but hadn’t done the same for the letter?

 

“I think maybe they wanted you to see the note first,” Steve surmised, moving back towards him. He held the letter out, and Bruce took it delicately from his hands, flipping it over and sliding his finger under the flap.

 

A small sheet of paper slipped out.

 

_Thought you might want this. Not as a reminder, but as a promise.  You’ll never have to think about using one of these again._

It wasn’t signed, but that was okay, it didn’t have to be. Bruce clutched the letter tightly in his hand, then relaxed his grip, smoothing out the wrinkles.  “May I have the gun, please?” he asked Steve.

 

The blonde looked at him for a long moment, considering, but then nodded and handed it over. Bruce took the gleaming weapon from him, noting that it was warm from Steve’s hands.  “Thank you,” he murmured, not sure who it was meant for.  But, he supposed, it didn’t really matter, either.

 

He was grateful to them all.

 

_Gift Four_

After the misunderstanding with the gun, Bruce went nearly three months before another package showed up at the Tower, addressed to him. Staring at the box sitting innocently on his lab table, he wondered idly why the man didn’t just hand-deliver the gifts.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had the time and money to find and recover these particular items from his past.

 

With a small grin, Bruce pulled the box towards him, opening it up almost eagerly. Inside was an official looking document.  Despite having never actually seen one before, Bruce knew exactly what it was.  He didn’t read most of it, his eyes drawn to the most important paragraph:

 

_Now, therefore, I, Matthew Ellis, President of the United States, pursuant to the pardon power conferred up me by Article II, Section 2, of the Constitution, have granted and by these presents do grant a full, free, and absolute pardon unto Robert Bruce Banner for all offenses against the United States which he, Robert Bruce Banner, has committed or may have committed or taken part in during the period from December 12, 2006 through May 4, 2012._

Bruce swallowed. He’d just been pardoned for crimes committed as the Hulk from the date of conception until the Battle of New York, when he became part of the Avengers Initiative and subject to protection under SHIELD jurisdiction.

 

Setting the document back in the box, Bruce grabbed everything and left the lab, heading for Tony’s workroom. The doors opened on his approach, and Bruce was assaulted by the throbbing drumbeat of AC/DC cranked at full volume.  He could practically feel the vibrations in his bones.  “Uh, Tony?” he called out over the cacophony.

 

The music died down to something reasonable, and Tony looked up from where he’d been tinkering with the arc reactor for one of the suits. Bruce knew he’d been having trouble with them shorting out if they took a direct hit.

 

“Hey, Bruce! What’s up?” Tony mumbled around the screwdriver in his mouth, his focus already back on his work.  Taking that for permission, Bruce stepped into the room.

 

“A Presidential Pardon, Tony?” he asked disbelievingly. Tony paused, then shrugged, still not looking at him.

 

“Seems to me like you never attacked unless you were attacked first,” he muttered. “And Ellis sort of owes me for saving his life.”

 

“I thought that was Iron Patriot,” Bruce replied innocently. Tony gave him a mock glare, and he grinned; Tony really, really hated that War Machine had been renamed by the United States Government.  And he was still bitter about the paint job, too.  Fortunately for him, Colonel Rhodes had gotten it reverted back to its original gunmetal grey after complaining that the red, white, and blue made him an too visible as a target; he’d rather leave that honor to the flashier red and gold Iron Man suit.

 

“The President owes you?” Bruce asked, then sighed. “Of course he does.”  What he really wanted to do was to ask _why_. Why was Tony doing this?  What did he hope to gain from it? Did he hope to gain anything?  Had he sent presents to any of the others? Why was Bruce different?

 

Standing there, watching Tony work, he couldn’t bring himself to ask any of them. Instead, he bit his lip.  “Umm..anyhow.  I just wanted to say thanks,” he said at last.  “I’ll leave you to your work now.”

 

He turned to walk back out, but Tony called his name, stopping him. The other man held up the reactor he was holding.  “Want to help?” he asked lightly.

 

Bruce hesitated, but only for a moment – Tony never let any of them see the arc reactor technology, and here he was, offering to let Bruce actually see how it worked, see the technology behind it – then he was nodding, setting his box well away from potential sparks and curious robots.

 

Together, the two men leaned over the reactor.

 

_Gift Five_

“What small beast is this?!” Thor demanded loudly as he walked into the Common Room. He’d just returned from Asgard, and had come to greet his Shield Brothers before going off to visit with his Lady Jane.

 

The beast in question barked loudly, darting around Thor’s legs and running straight for Bruce, who was sitting in an armchair, watching Clint wipe out entire battalions of Orcs with a bow and arrow. The archer took his craft very seriously, even in games.  Bruce knew that Tony was actually having a special game made for Clint for Christmas that would allow him to use special arrows, like the ones he used in real life, in the game.  He was going to love it.

 

Bruce stared down at the dog that was now trying to crawl into his lap in greeting with wide eyes. “…Ricky?” he asked.  The mutt barked again, and before Bruce realized what he was doing, he was on the floor, his arms wrapped around the dog, who had been cleaned and groomed and no longer had that matted spot back by his tail or the coarse patch of fur around his scruff that had probably been the result of him losing a chunk of it in a fight before Bruce had found him.  He was older now, but then again, so was Bruce.

 

A laugh tore out of him, threatening to turn into crying at any second. “This creature knows you!” Thor exclaimed, delighted.

 

Natasha tilted her head as she walked into the room, considering the dog. “That’s the one you had in Brazil, right?” she asked.

 

Bruce pulled back, tilting his face away from Ricky’s eager tongue. He’d settle down soon.  “Yeah,” he replied.  “I had to leave him behind when Ross sent his soldiers after me.”

 

“Ah,” Thor said, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did.  He looked down at the large plastic container in his hand.  “There is also a box of food here that appears to be for your friend.  Sadly, it is not for Asgardians.”  He looked crestfallen at being denied the chance to try Ricky’s treats, and Bruce hid his laughter in Ricky’s fur.  The dog squirmed happily.  When Bruce pulled back, Ricky settled at his feet with a yawn and promptly laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes.  Bruce scratched him idly around the ears.

 

“Welcome home, Ricky,” he murmured.

 

His companion gave him a quiet woof in return.

 

_Always Yours_

Tony came down with the flu, and Bruce was appointed unofficial caretaker. Not that he tried really hard to get out of it; he didn’t mind caring for his teammates in whatever way he could.  It made him feel like he contributed to the team as a whole, and it soothed something inside of him, made him feel like he was surrounded by family.

 

None of the other Avengers ventured near Tony’s floor while he was sick. He was a terrible patient, loud and restless and determined to ignore every directive the doctor – and Bruce – gave him.  Bruce had finally forced him into a compromise; he got to use his tablet in bed, as long as he ate proper food, drank water instead of coffee, and took his medicine when Bruce handed it to him.  Tony groused that he got the worse end of the bargain, but Bruce just smiled and sent Ricky in to keep the genius company.  Tony would never admit it out loud, but he loved Ricky.  Apparently, he’d never been allowed a pet as a child, and Ricky was very well-tempered and calm, content to press against Tony’s side on the bed and be petted, or lay by his feet and share a nap.  Ricky was a blessing in more ways than one.

 

Four days into the flu, Tony took a sudden turn for the worse. His lungs were still clear of pneumonia – Bruce had called one of the SHIELD doctors in just to verify his diagnosis, but he couldn’t keep anything down, and his temperature spiked.  He was delirious with fever, and Ricky would whine worriedly when he started tossing and turning, in the throes of a nightmare.

 

Bruce wiped the sweat from his face and kept him near-smothered in blankets, trying to force the fever to break, but it didn’t seem to be working. When he’d check Tony’s temperature with his hand, the other man would arch into his touch.  During a brief period of lucidity, he murmured that Bruce’s hands were even warmer than his skin, which was awesome.

 

A few hours later, he was curled up in a ball under the covers, coughing pitifully while his body was wracked with shivers as his fever increased still further. Bruce was getting seriously worried and tried to get Tony to agree to go to the hospital, but the genius point-blank refused, grabbing Bruce’s wrist when he went to walk away to call SHIELD Medical.

 

“Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely. “’M jus’ cold.”  His teeth chattered as if in emphasis, and he gave Bruce’s wrist a weak tug. “C’mere,” he murmured.  “You can’t ge’ sick, righ’?” His words were slurred and rough around the edges.  Bruce realized what he was going for and sighed, but stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the covers with the other man, letting Tony curl up against his side.  The genius sighed with relief as Bruce’s elevated body temperature helped to ease his chills.  “Stay here, ‘k?” he murmured.

 

Bruce combed his hand through Tony’s hair idly, and the man practically purred, melting against him. Ricky padded into the room, fresh from a quick jog with Steve, and hopped up onto the bed, settling at their feet with a contented whuffing sound.

 

Slowly, Tony’s shivers eased, and his breathing settled down towards sleep. Bruce sent up a quick prayer that maybe this time, he’d get some actual rest.  The nightmares and his natural resistance to actually sleeping were not helping him get over the flu.

 

“Gonna stay?” Tony mumbled, his hand tightening where it rested on Bruce’s hip.

 

Bruce nodded, his lips brushing against Tony’s forehead, checking his fever again. It didn’t seem to be any worse than it had been before.  “Yes, Tony,” he agreed.  “I’ll stay.  Get some sleep, okay?”

 

Tony nodded sleepily. “’kay,” he agreed.  Then, “Love you.”

 

Bruce froze, but before he could think of a suitable reply, Tony was asleep, his body going limp against Bruce’s side, leaving Bruce with a lot of time to do nothing but think, his thoughts chasing each other in circles. He felt like he was on the verge of some great revelation, but he wasn’t quite there yet.  Perhaps when Tony was better, they’d be able to talk about it.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, with Tony’s fever-warm skin pressed tightly against his own, but at some point, he must’ve dozed off himself, because he was awoken by Tony’s movements an indeterminable amount of time later. Tony was shoving the covers off of both them, his body covered in a sheen of sweat.  He glanced over at Bruce.  “I feel gross,” he complained.

 

Bruce chuckled, reaching over and pressing the back of his hand to Tony’s forehead. His temperature still seemed a bit high, but the fever appeared to have finally broken.  “Drink some water, and I’ll draw you up a bath,” he offered.

 

Tony grinned, and Bruce saw the trap far too late. “Are you gonna get in with me?” Tony purred wickedly.  The effect was rather ruined by a coughing fit that doubled him over, Bruce’s hands rubbing firmly between his shoulder blades.  When he was done and catching his breath, Bruce handed over a water bottle from the bedside table, which Tony drank down half of in a few gulps before capping it and dropping it onto the bed.  “Ugh, I hate being sick,” he whined.

 

Bruce smiled sympathetically. “I know,” he agreed.  Then he stood up.  “I’ll get that bath ready.”  He headed for the bathroom door, pausing on the threshold.  “And Tony?” he called.  The brunette looked up at him from where he was petting Ricky, who had taken Bruce’s place the moment the other man had left the bed.  “I love you, too.”  He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving a silent Tony behind him.

 

Less than thirty seconds later, while he was testing the lukewarm water, Tony stumbled into the bathroom, crashing into him and nearly sending them both to the tiled floor. “Do you mean that?” Tony asked breathlessly, eyes still fever bright and cheeks flushed crimson.

 

Bruce bit his lip, knowing that now was his chance to back out. Tony would let him, too, would let things go back to how they‘d been before. They’d be best friends, science partners and teammates, nothing more.

 

“Yeah,” he said at last, licking his lips. “I meant it.”

 

Tony gave a self-satisfied smirk. “Good,” he purred.  “Because that was the last thing.”

 

Bruce blinked at him. “The last thing?” he repeated, puzzled.

 

Tony’s grin widened as he nodded, grabbing Bruce’s hand and pressing it next to the arc reactor, over his heart. “The last thing I had to give you that’s yours.”

 

Bruce laughed. Then he cried.  And when he was done, he gave Tony his heart as well.


End file.
